


we are born for the storm (risk all and rebel)

by TheArtOfLazy



Category: Ella Enchanted (2004), RWBY
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Anti-Faunus Racism (RWBY), Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, because adam taurus is The Worst, medieval stuff - Freeform, the ella enchanted au absolutely no one asked for, with a happy ending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:41:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23306209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheArtOfLazy/pseuds/TheArtOfLazy
Summary: It's a dangerous thing, to love. There's a noose around her neck and a knife in her hand, but Blake cannot pull herself away from this girl spun from flame, though it may just damn them all.Or: Blake reaches for the sun, and pulls.(the ella enchanted au no one needed)
Relationships: Blake Belladonna/Yang Xiao Long, Other Background Relationships - Relationship
Comments: 6
Kudos: 48





	we are born for the storm (risk all and rebel)

Blake is six years old when she understands what it means to be cursed. 

She’s never noticed it before, perhaps through her parents desperate efforts, or her own nature. Everyone says she’s a good child, a sweet girl, never contrary or out of line, and she’s gathered that it’s high praise indeed. Sometimes when people say it her father hugs her extra tight and her mother flinches, but she loves their hugs and if she smiles up at them they forget to look so sad, so she’s never thought beyond it. 

Sometimes things are weird, sure, but things are weird for everyone at least some of the time. Like one time Ilia ate a three worms in front of the school on a dare-- that was pretty weird, and she puked them up again five minutes later, her face bright green with purple freckles. Not the best look. It was hilarious but Blake didn’t laugh at her because Ilia asked her not to, and she’d already been through enough. So she kept it in, even though it was hilarious and in all fairness she’d told Ilia not to eat the worms in the first place.

Things get weirder for Blake the older she gets, though. She notices the way interactions hang askew, the way her body fills with foreign motion at each request. She doesn’t go outside with the other kids very much-- she plays with Ilia, and she goes to school, but she never gets to go to the market like the other kids, or run through the creek playing tag, and at this point the other kids act like she isn’t even there sometimes. It’s okay though, because her parents say it’s for the best, and their words settle over the jealousy and frustration with the resounding rightness of, well, pretty much everything else they’ve ever told her.

Ilia says that’s weird, but thinking about it makes her head hurt. Lots of things make Blake’s head hurt these days. 

On her sixth birthday she understands. Birthdays are no small thing in the Belladonna household-- honestly, they’re probably Blake’s favourite things in the whole world, besides maybe books and her parents, and Ilia. She gets to be older and smarter, and her mother makes the coolest cakes for her, spending hours on her masterworks.

They don’t always have a lot to spare, in way of food or pretty much anything else. Blake isn’t stupid-- she sees the way visitors from other villages dress, on the rare occasions they visit. It’s no secret that Menagerie isn’t the most plentiful part of the kingdom, but it’s a young village yet. Every year more people homestead in the valley, desperate for the promise Menagerie holds, and her parents tell her that every day they all build the foundation for something great. Something worth the years of toil. In the meantime her parents work doubly as hard to provide for her, saving money and foodstuffs to splurge on special occasions. 

This year her mother spends all day making something in the kitchen. Blake has no idea what it is, because her father takes her to the shoreline and fishes with her all day. It’s kind of the best thing in the world, racing across the warm beach, watching her father wrestle massive, writhing fish out of the sea, getting to dunk him for once underneath the foaming waves. She almost completely forgets it’s a distraction, and truthfully she doesn’t even care that it is, because she can’t imagine a better way to spend the day. Not when her father picks her up and tosses her like a pebble into the waves, grinning as she flies, floats, lands with the smallest splash in a gangly mess of limbs and laughter. Her father jumps in behind her, swamping her in salty waves, and when she climbs onto his shoulders she can see the whole world. Nothing is better than this, she imagines. 

And then her father carries her home, marching her up to the door like a princess on his back.

And then she sees The Cake. 

It’s probably the tallest thing she’s ever seen. Her mom says it’s a six layer cake-- just like her!-- and she’s covered it in white icing and piled fresh fruits all around it. It looks like something from a fairytale, Blake decides. When her mother sets it down in front of her Blake squeals, unabashed, and her father laughs. 

“Dig in!” He says, and she’s more than happy to oblige. 

He cuts her a giant slice, and everyone chuckles when Blake gobbles it up faster than lightning. As soon as she’s done, her father puts another heaping slice onto her plate. 

“Kali, you outdid yourself!” he says, but Blake is too focused on eating to comment one way or another. 

The second slice isn’t quite so easy to scarf down. Nobody gives her a third, but at this point Blake is starting to realize she can’t make herself stop. Her fork plunges into the cake itself, even as her eyes widen in confusion, and she’s shovelling cake into her mouth before she even has time to think. 

Her father laughs some more, because look at how his little girl can eat, but it isn’t fun anymore. The cake tastes like ash in her mouth, and her tongue burns, but Blake keeps eating, jaw aching. She doesn’t understand, but the more she tries to think about it the harder her head pounds. She starts to cry in between forkfuls, desperate choked sobs that rattle in her chest. 

Her father isn’t laughing anymore. 

“Blake-- stop eating,” her mother says, voice tense, and whatever force was holding her up collapses in on itself. Her sobbing cuts off, too surprised to continue. It’s all she can do to avoid falling off her chair. She stares at the cake; it’s ravaged beyond repair, ripped and shredded to pieces. Crumbs are scattered over her dress, smashed into her cheeks. She’s still holding the fork. 

Her mother moves first. Blake isn’t moving at all, her eyes blown wide, mouth trembling, tears still tracking down her cheeks, so she sweeps her into her arms, holds her tight. 

“It’s alright, dear, it’s okay. You’re okay,” she whispers into her hair. Blake can feel her mother trembling too, and her voice shakes with every word. Blake’s father is still sitting in his chair, staring up at her with shiny, frightened eyes, a hand splayed across his mouth. 

For a few terrible seconds nobody can say anything. Then Blake’s father is bounding towards them, and she’s wrapped in a bear hug on all sides. His beard tickles her ears, and she can still smell the saltwater on his skin.

“I’m so sorry, love. I’m so sorry,” he says, over and over again. There’s a rawness to his voice that scares Blake, reminds her that this is not alright. That her parents are so, so scared. She’s never seen her parents scared before. 

Not like this.

Her mother throws the rest of the cake out, its memory stained, and that night her parents tell her everything. They sit beside her bed, faces gaunt, and begin to weave a terrible story of force and pain and curses, stretching back all the way to her birth. 

They tell her a fairy had come, as they make every birth their personal business. (This she knew quite well-- everyone loved to talk about their fairy godparent, their gift. Blake had never known hers.) He had appeared an hour after her birth, with spinning lights and twinkling bells, and a large clap of thunder. The walls of the room shook, rocking her cradle violently back and forth. It had scared Blake so badly she’d burst into tears, unconsolable. She interrupted his gracious opening words thrice with her wails. 

She had no clue who this rude intruder was, to be fair. Her parents had no such luck. Families shared hushed tales of the Light Fairy in closed rooms, speaking of the one who loved to introduce themself with music and dance, beguiling all around with his flashy games. Parents told stories of the horrible gifts he’d trapped their children with-- some forced to dance at every sound of music, others trapped smiling for the rest of their lives. He had quieted Blake’s crying with a simple gift-- the perfect gift, he’d said. 

“Your gift shall be obedience, dear child. With it you will endear yourself to all,” he’d said, smooth voice twisting through the room. “Now, go to sleep.” 

Her parents tried desperately to change his mind, but he refused most adamantly. The Light Fairy disappeared with the same lights and music as before, certain he’d made everyone’s lives a good deal better. They had searched far and wide for a cure, for anyone who might save their daughter this fate, but everyone said the same thing. Only the fairy who imparted the gift could ever take it back. And the stories of what happened to people who’d asked the Light Fairy to change their gifts were the most awful of all. 

So that was that. Too afraid to risk their daughter’s life, they had made do in their village, keeping her away from as many people as they could to limit the danger she faced. 

The danger she still faces. 

It’s a lot for Blake to take in. She clutches her blanket in a vice and searches their faces for some sort of clue that this is all just a poor prank. 

“We wanted you to grow up as normally as you could,” her mother says. “And we.. we didn’t know how to tell you.”

Blake can understand that, at least. She doesn’t even want to know this now, and she’s never been more mature. Her father squeezes her hand and looks at her mother for a long moment. Her eyes fall, the same way they do when Blake smiles too easily after an order, tries too hard to please, and gives the tiniest nod. He turns to Blake. 

“This is an incredibly dangerous thing,” he says. “You could be forced to do anything a person commands, against everything you feel. Like with the cake.” 

Blake shivers at the thought. 

“That’s why it’s important that you never tell anyone about this. Do you understand?” He looks pained, and her mother puts a hand on his shoulder. 

“You must never tell anyone about your curse. Under any circumstance,” she says. “It’s too dangerous.”

The words sink into her bones, wrap themselves around her chest, and Blake understands exactly what they’ve done.

“I-- I won’t,” she grinds out, the words forming on her tongue before she can even think to stop them. There’s nothing else she can say, and they all know it.

Something eerily similar to anger builds up inside her, cold as the shadows creeping through her window. She doesn’t say another word, unsure of what might come out, and soon her parents leave with soft voices and a murmured “Happy Birthday, love.” 

She doesn’t sleep that night. Her mind races through every interaction, every weird moment in her life, trying to make sense of it all. Imagining every way things could have gone wrong. Every phrase someone could utter to send her careening off a bridge, into a fire, onto a blade.

She’s six years old, and she’s never been so afraid.  
___

Here’s the thing: it gets to a point where Blake can’t tell where the curse ends and where she begins. She’s a good girl, a sweet girl, an obedient, kindhearted, wonderful child who never talks back or complains. She’s a cursed girl, a trapped girl, a machine forced to complete every task sent her way without so much as a hint of rebellion. She’s both, she’s neither, but mostly she’s just sick and tired of this shit. Ilia laughs when she says it, but it’s true.

She starts to understand her parents’ sick looks every time a neighbour compliments her attitude. 

So Blake goes to war against the phantom in her bones. She can’t avoid commands-- not forever, at least. The longer she pushes at it, the harder the curse pulls her back with pounding headaches and cracking bones and a vice around her chest. Her blood sings with the desperate urge to complete every command, but she can’t just give it up, this single shred of herself. 

Her parents do their best to structure demands as questions, but when they inevitably slip up she grinds her heels into the floor, stomps and glares and makes them feel it. If she has to obey, then they have to endure it, too. She perfects an aloof glare in between doing her chores and all of her classmates homework (never again), and then no one is safe. Not her parents, not her teachers, not the insufferable fishmongers who call her from stall to stall. Nobody. 

(Except like, Ilia. But that’s just because she’s cool and safe and the best friend Blake’s ever had.) 

At school she stands her ground. People don’t ask questions if she asks them first, and they don’t demand anything if they think you’re untouchable. Slowly, so slowly, she finds a place in the village with Ilia. People don’t seek her out but everyone knows her name-- and not because she’s some freaky recluse. 

It helps that Ilia is fearless at her side, and that her parents are Ghira and Kali Belladonna, Heroes of the Faunus. There’s plenty to work with, and she intends to make it all her own. So Blake dares the village kids to climb up walls and swim across lakes, talks of revolution and protest, speaks loud enough to block out her curse, all with a shark-tooth grin. 

She’s ten and the world is terrifying, but she’s Blake Belladonna and you know what? She’s not scared anymore. She’s angry and strong, and maybe weakness threads through her very bones but she’s going to make the whole world listen to her, one day. 

Ilia laughs when she says that, too, hanging upside down from the oak by her parents small cabin. It’s one of their favourite places to go, nestled between lanky coconut trees, besides maybe Blake’s house, and the beach on especially windy days. Ilia’s parents are never home anymore, it seems, not with the new regulations and taxes the crownsguard put in place. Blake’s parents say everyone is working twice as hard just to stay in the same place, but it’s kind of fun like this, because there’s no one to tell them to come in and Ilia never makes Blake do anything. 

“You talk like you’re invincible,” she says, eyes sparkling. “Like you have nothing to lose.” 

And Blake wants to say, I have everything to lose, or if I think about it any other way I’ll go crazy, or even I was cursed at birth and now I have to do everything I’m told you nerd, but she puffs out her chest and says, “Maybe I don’t,” because that’s basically how every hero ever speaks, and that’s who she’s going to be.

Ilia laughs some more, and falls onto the ground in a heap, and then both of them are rolling on the ground laughing desperately. “Okay then-- what about me?” Ilia asks, getting up. She’s got that look in her eye, the one that means she’s looking for a serious talk or a seriously stupid prank. Blake knows it well. 

She pushes Ilia over and rolls her eyes. “As if you’d ever let me. You’re too clingy.”

Ilia huffs in mock annoyance, and gets up to leave. “If that’s what you really think,” she says, but she can’t hide the smile on her face. 

“Oh, it definitely is. Nerd.”

They chase each other through the tree branches, making it all the way to Blake’s cottage before they collapse in a pile by the door. Kali finds them there ten minutes later, still sprawled out in the dirt. She insists Ilia stay for the night and Ilia has never said no to Blake’s parents before, so it’s settled. They spend the night conspiring, planning out impossible pranks to pull in the days to come. They don’t talk about Blake’s anger, or Ilia’s parents. They don’t need to.

Ilia is maybe Blake’s favourite person in the whole world. 

___

Some days Blake can almost pretend she isn’t cursed. Most days she’s not so lucky. She can’t out-daunt commands, or manoeuvre through the fine-print of a phrase in the moments after it airs. She can buy herself seconds at most, and sometimes it works out, but it’s like walking a tightrope in the midst of a raging hurricane, and she’s only so strong. Suffice to say, it doesn’t always end well, and the older she gets, the stronger the winds blow.

She’s thirteen when she nearly gets arrested. 

Menagerie isn’t the safehaven it used to be, not anymore-- times are changing, evidenced by the small groups of Faunus who huddle together in the streets after hours of labour with reduced pay, and by the new human guardsmen who police them without mercy. 

At night Blake crouches by her door and listens to her parents talk with neighbours and friends-- apparently there are rumours about a workforce to make up for the Crown’s losses incurred during recent vaguely-defined ‘hard times,’ but none of it makes sense. Everything she learns is from whispers aimed at everyone else. Her parents are away more often than not, these days, and even when they’re home they never talk to her about these kinds of things. 

It’s supposedly for her own good, but Blake is twelve and angry, and so very good at working in between lines. She and Ilia plan on forcing the adults to talk to them, proving themselves, doing some sort of unignorable feat, though the details remain foggy. It’s a valiant dream they cling to, but it doesn’t last nearly as long as it should. 

Because one moment they’re kids tired of being left out of the loop and the next Ilia’s parents are getting arrested like common thieves for failure to pay the “Crown tax” (which didn’t even exist until two days ago.)

Ilia vanishes with them. She disappears from Blake’s life without even a note, and for five days Blake is certain that Ilia was taken too. She’s felt emptiness before, but this kind is new-- her chest caves in and it hurts so badly to breathe that her parents don’t let her go to school for two days. She stays curled up in her bed and cries until she forgets how to stop.

Finally, finally Ilia lands on their doorstep on the sixth night, soaking wet and completely still. Blake can’t even speak at first, just throws herself onto her best friend and squeezes her close while her heart learns to beat again. Ilia doesn’t talk about it-- any of it-- for a week, and when finally starts to open up she spends the whole night sobbing into Blake’s arms. Ila clings to her like Blake matters, like she can change things, and it terrifies Blake. 

Her parents make up an extra bed in her room when it becomes clear this will be a more long-term situation, and Ilia becomes a permanent resident (just until her parents are free).

It feeds a new anger inside of the both of them. There’s injustice in the world, and nobody even talks to them about it. They can see the adults meeting in corners, whispering over drinks late into the night, but it’s like they’re invisible, even as the aftershocks of every action send their lives into chaos. 

They become their own rebellion. They’re too angry to let themselves get bogged down in fear, and so every guard becomes a personal affront. Usually it’s a snide comment as they pass, or a string rigged to drop fish guts over their heads. The afternoon Ilia finds out where they took her parents-- sent to join an indentured workforce until they pay off their debts-- they mete out justice with rotten apples in a blind rage.

It’s Blake’s idea, first. There’s an apple tree a short ways away from Ilia’s old home and it feels poetic to put them to use. They stuff satchels full of rotting apples picked from off the ground and head towards the marketplace, a favourite hunting ground for both the children and their prey.

It’s an idea little thought out-- less of a plan and more of an “on sight” kind of reactionary protest. The first guard they see gets it straight to the head-- two apples, one bursting off his helmet, the other crashing into his jaw-- and then they’re off, running away as quickly as they can, splitting down separate paths. 

The guard gives chase immediately, rotting apple guts sliding down his face, shining in the midday sun. Nobody moves out of his way, either in solidarity or laziness, and Blake can hear him cursing loudly as he shoves passerby's out of his path, following her footsteps.

“Stop, you stupid animal!” he shouts, face twisted into a snarl. 

Blake’s legs lock in place, and she nearly tumbles into a pile of nearby barrels, head swivelling wildly.

The guard catches her eye through the crowd and grins darkly, wiping crushed apple off his chin. She jerks at her legs but it’s hopeless-- she can’t move an inch. Her feet are rooted to the ground, and the harder she tries to push through it the spottier her vision gets, her bones creaking with the effort, her head pounding.

She doesn’t want to die, doesn’t want to get thrown in jail and rot away in a workforce somewhere across the kingdom. Ilia’s gone-- they’d promised to split up, meet back at the old oak tree-- and though the other villagers look on in pity and confusion, no one knows what to say. No one tells her to run. 

The guard is seven feet from her when she sees a hand reaching out. 

“Come with me,” a voice commands, and a dark figure starts to run in front of her. Blake stumbles forward, caught off guard by the instant relief, and runs after him. She doesn’t recognize this new person. He runs in front of her, darting between villagers and vaulting over barrel stands, leading her towards the tree-line, and when she looks back she can tell the guard is long gone but she can’t stop moving until the boy finally stops several meters into the forest. 

She stops with him, panting and leaning against a tree. He turns to her. He’s old, older than her, and looks like he’d be the eldest of the boys who hang out in packs by the tavern, the ones who spend their time puffing out their chests and deepening their voices, but he carries himself differently. One of his eyes is scarred over, a terrible brand warping the skin into the Schnee Dust Corps insignia. Blake fights the urge to flinch.

“That was pretty ballsy, you know,” he says finally, shifting his weight. A sword hangs at his side. Blake hadn’t noticed that before. “Taunting a guard like that? I didn’t think anyone in this town had that kind of courage.” 

It’s a better explanation than she could give. “He had it coming,” she says. 

The boy laughs.

“My name’s Adam,” he says. “And you’re welcome, by the way.”

“Blake.”

He looks her up and down, before leaning back. “Tell me, do you make a habit of hunting down crownsguard with fruit?” he asks. 

She shuffles on her feet, but the nervous energy dies down as he holds her gaze. His eyes soften, and though the scar had been frightening at first, she can’t see anything behind it that might lend itself to danger. He seems genuine. 

“Not usually,” she says, and the truth doesn’t catch in her throat like it usually does. “It just… it feels good to fight back. I’m tired of just watching things get worse.” 

Adam quirks an eyebrow at that, and she can see the beginnings of a grin curling at his lips. 

“You and I have that in common,” he says. “I’ll see you around.” He spares her one last piercing look and then turns away, sauntering back towards the village. 

She watches him leave. Her stomach twists, but she shakes it off and darts towards the direction of the old oak tree where Ilia was waiting for her. 

She doesn’t mention Adam, not yet. She tells herself it’s because it would lead to too many questions she can’t answer, but the excuse doesn’t even sit right in her own head. Not that it matters.

___

It turns out Adam is actually the coolest person ever. He’s been all over the country, and he fights bad guys all the time, and he’s got an actual following. And-- maybe the coolest thing of all-- he actually talks to Blake and Ilia. 

Well, mostly Blake, but Ilia follows Blake all over the place so it’s basically like he’s talking to the both of them. 

Things don’t get better after Ilia’s parents get assigned to the mines. Guards stop even trying to pretend to follow laws, and soon enough the Queen’s forces start making decrees in the square, talking about citizen duties and historical grievances like they have any right to them. Faunus are ordered to work for the crown-- first, with full pay, now with half that, and likely soon with nothing. Blake can hear her parents late at night discussing things with others in the village, but unsurprisingly they don’t share any of their plans with her. 

Adam does. 

She learns very early on that Adam loves an audience. He seeks her out, like he said he would, often popping up while she makes her way to school, or while walking with Ilia. He tells her all about his plans, and how he’d been attacked and tortured by the Duke Schnee’s men after he saved a passing Faunus merchant from the same fate. It’s enthralling, and there’s an edge to his words, an undercurrent of anger that gives them weight. 

A few weeks after she meets Adam, Blake’s parents make the move to reform an old revolutionary group-- the White Fang. Blake remembers stories about her parents from before, stories about how they helped form Menagerie, how they had carved a functional life for Faunus inside the country, as opposed to exiled beyond it. They had never been proud of it, not the way everyone else seemed to be. They always just sounded tired, when they recounted their lives to her.

And now it seemed they were doing it all over again.

As soon as she hears the news, she finds them. “I’m joining you,” she says, planting herself between them and the door to their cottage. “You have to let me join you.” 

Her parents don’t agree. 

“It’s far too dangerous,” her father says. “You could be killed, or captured, or hurt-- and that’s without even thinking about your curse!” 

Blake shakes her head at that. “You say the same thing every time I try and do something outside of this house,” she argues. “I’m old enough to make my own decisions, and I need to do this.” 

Her mother winces, tries to mediate. “We know you feel passionately about this, and I love that about you. But this isn’t something children should have to take part in. You deserve better.”

Blake glares at them, flicks her ears and crosses her arms. “I’m strong-- you know I’m strong. If you force away, I’ll find another way to fight. And you won’t be able to stop me.” 

It isn’t easy, but her parents refuse to resort to force, and they certainly don’t want her joining some illicit vigilante fight club, so the decision is made, and she and Ilia join the ranks of the White Fang. 

It’s kind of like joining a super-secret spy ring. Nobody talks about it out loud, but there are secret hang-outs and meetings, and all the members nod at her when she passes. It’s just like the stories she used to read, except now she’s the one making the difference.

Adam pays attention to her even more after she joins the White Fang. They end up spending more time around each other just by way of the White Fang-- every member ends up in the same vicinity at one point or another, and he seems to enjoy her company enough to seek it out. Sometimes he tells her what to do, and the familiar weight settles on her spine, but it never grates on her the way it usually does, or at least not for very long. He knows what he’s talking about, and it feels good to follow through and listen to him. She wants him to trust her, wants him to know that she’s committed to the White Fang, too. To making a difference.

Ilia doesn’t like Adam very much. Ilia says it’s because he’s a self-absorbed asshole. Adam says it’s just because she’s jealous. Blake knows if they just spent a little more time together, tried to get past tricky first impressions, they’d get along incredibly well. But Adam doesn’t bend to anyone, and Ilia is too busy, too angry to try. Honestly, Blake can sympathize-- ever since her parents were taken, Ilia had tried so hard to get them back, to no avail. She doesn’t talk about it, not even to Blake anymore, but it’s obvious she’s hurting. Blake doesn’t know what to do anymore, but she tries her best to stay open to Ilia, to be a solid, permanent fixture in her life. 

As the months pass, the White Fang becomes more than a forum for ideological theory. Her parents form a council, with members like Adam and an imposing tiger faunus, Sienna, and together they start planning raids on outposts, taking back money stolen by their farce of a tax. One night her parents come back bone tired, but smiling, and tell Blake all about how they stopped a prison wagon, setting free all the people trapped aboard. Blake isn’t allowed on any of those missions yet-- she mostly listens and talks, and spreads the news in the village-- but Adam tells her that when she is, she’ll be unstoppable. And once she is, she’ll be saving people like Ilia’s parents-- no one will have to hurt the way Ilia did, ever again.

It’s thoughts like that which energize her. Her mother and father start to teach her and Ilia how to fight behind their cottage, hidden by bramble and trees. Sometimes Adam even takes her out to the forest and lets her watch him practice, going so far as to show her some of his own technique. It’s exhilarating, and she and Ilia scrimmage practically every day. It’s an incredible kind of fun, the progress and thrill of it all, matched with their burning purpose. It helps Blake deal with the less enjoyable aspects of life. 

As it turns out, living in a society where guards run wild and lawless is not conducive to a curse of obedience. As the White Fang get stronger the crownsguard fight back with even more restrictions, and crueller personnel. Blake won’t admit it, but these days she tries to avoid walking alone through the town. The guards are rowdy, and rowdiest when they’re able to seize upon a crowd of one. Sometimes when she passes by the guards yell at her, voices sharp and bolstered by liquor, tell her to purr for them. Her body seizes and her throat chokes on the sounds, but she can never fight it off. They always laugh, and she always purrs. 

Apparently she’s beginning to make a name for herself amongst them. She doesn’t hate her ears-- could never hate her ears-- but gods, what she wouldn’t give to just be left alone. 

Sometimes Adam is with her, and they don’t ask her to purr then. Maybe it’s his glare, or the dark sword that sways at his hip, but no one bothers her when he’s around. He runs into her once, when she’s been caught by their stupid games, just in time to hear her grind out a halting purr while trying to walk quickly past the post office. His tilts his head and watches her struggle, eyebrows drawn together. He probably thinks she’s pathetic, and the thought makes her eyes burn. 

Adam walks closer and puts a hand on her shoulder, glares at the guards. 

“Don’t listen to them,” he tells her, and the purr dies in her throat. He walks her to her home in silence, until they stand at the path to her door. She doesn’t meet his gaze, but she can feel his eyes burning holes through her. She doesn’t leave until he speaks.

“Be careful out there,” he finally says. “It’s dangerous to be alone.” She nods quickly, ready for the whole ordeal to be over. “You should probably go home.” He pauses and narrows his eyes, the corners of his mouth tilting up. “Well, hop to it.”

She tries to play it off as a playful skip, but there’s little mistaking the way her legs immediately break into a broken hop, all the way to her front door, face burning. When she looks behind her he’s already gone, thank gods. There’s little else that could make the day worse. Her mother watches her from the kitchen with a concerned tilt to her head, but when she asks if she’s okay, Blake ignores her completely, and heads straight to her room.

___

Her parents don’t like Adam very much, either. Whereas Ilia could at least respect his abilities, it seems like that was the very thing they can’t handle. It’s impossible to show them that Adam is doing his best, is helping people more than ever before. His speeches inspire droves of recruits, and his plans always seem to go off without a hitch. Nothing he does seems to be good enough to prove himself to them, though, and just the thought of it drives Blake a little crazy.

Adam says it’s not worth it, that the older generations will always have problems with the new leaders of today. And Blake kind of understands, but her parents aren’t like that. They’re good people, and if they would just try to understand… But then Adam repeats it, tells her to trust him, and he’s got a point. Even the best people have their failings, after all, and that might just be the way things are. Adam’s never been wrong before. 

He sends Ilia off on a mission to do reconnaissance on an actual Crown Mine, where they might be keeping indentured Faunus workers. It’s her first assignment, and Blake hasn’t even really gone on one yet, so it’s a huge deal. Adam tells her they think her parents are there, in passing, and Blake has never seen Ilia look so happy or terrified. 

“You don’t have to go if you don’t think you’re ready,” Adam tells Ilia, running a hand through his hair. “But you’re the best person for the job. There are a lot of people in there that could use your help.” He smiles as Ilia jolts back a little. Blake wants to hug her, but Ilia doesn’t seem to like her hugs anymore, and Adam doesn’t think much of them either, so she just smiles extra hard.

Ilia leaves that night, and she doesn’t even talk to Blake before she goes. Adam tells her that sometimes that happens, you know-- sometimes people get too caught up in their own worlds too think about other people, and sometimes they get so busy they just forget to care. It doesn’t seem like Ilia, but Adam does know a lot. And either way, Ilia’s got a lot on her mind.

That night Adam takes her on a training assignment to practice scouting and tracking, things that will no doubt come in handy once she’s finally good enough to get a mission of her own. He shows her the best way to dash through trees, and tells her stories of his life long into the night. They don’t do very much scouting, in between all the talking, but Blake does learn a lot. Adam doesn’t smile very much, but whenever he’s around Blake she can tell he’s happy, in the way his shoulders relax and his eyes soften. And whenever he does smile, it’s always because of Blake. He tells her so. 

Halfway through the night, he looks at her through the smoke, firelight dancing across his horns. “You know, I’ve never told anybody this, but I don’t know what my gift is,” he says. “Never got the chance to ask my parents.” 

She tenses up, the same way she always does when people start edging around talk about their gifts. It’s never a pleasant conversation around her, and she always leaves feeling drained, head aching. He smiles at her, and with the way the firelight dances across his horns he looks like some kind of character from an old fairytale. Something dark and dangerous, maybe. Like an old god, or an avenging warrior. 

“If I had to guess, I think it’d be charm. That’s what everybody else seems to say,” he says. 

Blake tilts her head. “Charm?” she asks.

He laughs at her, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah. I don’t know-- people just like to listen to me.”

Blake nods-- it makes as much sense as they ever do-- and moves towards her bedroll.

“Wait,” Adam says, and she freezes mid-motion. She can hear his faint chuckle. “Tell me yours-- it’s only fair.” 

Blake wants to tell him. Blake wants to tell him so badly she can feel her muscles seizing, her heart twisting as she tries to form the words, but all she manages is a faint wheeze. She’s never found herself tugged between two commands like this before, and nothing makes the building tension ease. It grows and grows, until there’s no space left in her except a jagged, impossible pressure with no release. 

Adam watches her for a moment with a strange look in his eyes as her mouth parts, words caught on the tip of her tongue. Finally, he speaks. 

“Forget it.” 

The memory falls from her mind, and she’s left feeling vaguely confused, like she’d nearly fallen asleep. He looks at her with a wide smile now, and though she can’t remember what he just said, she’s happy that he’s happy. “With you, it’d probably be something like passion, right?” 

She makes a noncommittal sound, going back towards her bedroll. 

“Speak clearly when you talk to me,” he says, and it catches her off guard. 

“Yes, probably,” she says, the words clawing up her throat. 

“That’s what I thought,” he says, and for the first time she has no idea what he’s talking about. 

___

Ilia comes back and her parents are dead. The reconnaissance mission goes horrifically wrong, explosions sending the entire mine into the ground, and there’s nothing she can do about it but watch from a distance. She doesn’t speak to anyone for the first day, but there’s a haunted look in her eye that Blake can’t ignore, one that sends shockwaves through her heart. She finds Ilia sitting under their oak tree as the sun starts to set, where they used to plan out all their exploits. Ilia’s old home lies a stone’s throw away. No one lives there these days, and it’s fallen into disrepair, old vines crawling up its walls, wood cracked and fading. 

Ilia isn’t crying. Blake isn’t even sure she’s awake, at first. She doesn’t move when Blake sits beside her, just keeps staring at her old house. It used to be so easy to do this, Blake remembers. When did she have to think about how to approach her oldest friend? 

She clears her throat, intent on broaching the silence, when Ilia speaks up.

“Don’t-- don’t say anything, yet,” she whispers. Her voice is hoarse, like she’s been screaming. 

Blake’s mouth shuts of its own accord, nearly biting her tongue in the process. 

“Everything was going so well. I did everything right,” Ilia says. It doesn’t sound like she’s talking to Blake. “I watched, and I listened, I did everything I was supposed to do. I don’t even think they saw me.” 

Blake doesn’t ask who ‘they’ are. She can feel her heart shattering as Ilia starts to sniffle. Blake can’t speak, but she wraps her arms around Ilia and the girl doesn’t fight it, instead curling tighter into Blake’s embrace. 

“I thought-- I thought I could save them. I don’t know what I did wrong.” 

Ilia falls apart in Blake’s lap, and there’s nothing Blake can say. They loved you, she wants to say. None of this is your fault. You made them so, so proud. 

She rocks Ilia to sleep as the last of the light fades.

Adam finds her the next morning, disheveled and tired and still so, so sad. Ilia’s parents had been the best kind of people, and she’d always believed they’d save them in the end. Ilia didn’t deserve this, and neither did they.

“Where were you?” Adam asks her. He already knows the answer, but she tells him anyways. 

“I was with Ilia. It was a… hard night.” 

Adam’s eyes darken, and he looks at her reproachfully. “She can handle herself. You look like a mess.” 

Blake smooths her clothing instinctively, face burning.

“Don’t spend so much time with Ilia. She’s a distraction. If you really want to make a difference, you need to think about the bigger picture. Not about some girl.” Adam tells her, voice final. There’s an edge of satisfaction to it that makes her pause, but the command is already set, and her face collapses. She can’t imagine life without Ilia, especially now-- Ilia needs her. Adam watches her for a moment, and rests a hand on her shoulder. 

“Trust me, Blake-- it’s the best decision, for you and her.” 

His voice is soft and warm, and she remembers that this is Adam speaking. Adam, who always knows what to do. Adam, who never chooses wrong. Adam, who cares. 

“I trust you,” she says. Something feels twisted in the words, but she can’t put a finger to it. 

She doesn’t see Ilia alone again. 

____

Things come to a head two weeks after her fourteenth birthday. Two mines have exploded since Ilia’s first encounter-- both after White Fang operatives make contact, no less-- and the they’re divided for months on how to proceed. Her parents, the defacto leaders, talk about peaceful delegations. Adam says it isn’t enough. 

“Our people are dying out there!” He tells them. “Dying, while we delegate. We gave the humans peace, and look what they did to us. There will be no peace in this kingdom. Not until Faunus are free-- whatever it takes.”

As more deaths pile up, and more restrictions are forced upon Faunus communities, more people start to side with Adam. Blake can’t deny that he has a point-- peace can’t be an option when innocents are being murdered every week, after all. How do you call on diplomacy with people who murder and ravage your families and friends?

It’s a question her parents can’t answer, Adam says. One they’re too scared to. 

Blake thinks her parents might have been scared of this. Not jealous of Adam, but scared of what might happen if he grew passionate enough, powerful enough, to sway the organization.

Adam calls for new leadership, and the White Fang agrees. 

In one week, Blake’s parents are ousted, and Sienna Khan takes leadership with Adam at her side. Two days later, they announce they will be moving operations inland, at a gathering of only the most committed members. Adam invites Blake and Ilia to go, and even though Ilia won’t talk to her very much anymore, they stand beside each other with wild smiles, cheering and shouting into the night sky above.

They’ve set up a small stage in a clearing deep in the forest for Adam and Sienna to stand on and address the small crowd assembled in a dense circle. Banners hang from the trees, the White Fang logo writhing as the wind begins to pick up, and torches line the sides of the clearing. It looks like a new beginning. 

“The White Fang have been quiet too long!” Adam yells, and the White Fang members answer with whoops and cheers. He wears a mask now, bone white and embellished with bloody highlights. Together, with that and his sword, he cuts an imposing figure, even if it hides his scar. 

“We won’t wait for the humans to see us. We won’t wait for them to change for the better. Every second we spend discussing, our siblings burn in mines, worked to death!” His eyes are blown wide, mouth set in a snarl. This is the passion they’ve been missing-- this is the White Fang that will change things. Ilia nudges her shoulder and grins at Blake, and for a half-second they’re children again, hanging from trees and planning the next day’s adventures. 

“You’ve fought long and hard for the faunus of Menagerie. Will you do the same for your siblings across Vale?” Adam shouts. 

“Yes, sir!” Blake shouts, her voice cracking with the effort, shouts echoing around her. 

“Will you fight for the White Fang?” Adam shouts.

“Yes sir!” Blake yells, her voice ringing out first of all the members. Adam swivels, and stares her down. Blake lifts her chin up and squares her jaw, tries to look as dangerous, as committed as she can. I’m here, she wants to say. I’m fighting. His eyes flash, and the corner of his mouth twists up in a sharp grin. Someone on the far side of the crowd starts clashing their sword against their shield, and stomping their boots. The ground shakes under their feet as the call is picked up, and the air rings with the bright clang of metal. Blake doesn’t move at all, held in place by Adam’s stare. 

“Will you fight for me?” He roars, and Blake feels it in her bones. 

“Yes, sir!” She screams, heady with the sounds and promise of it all. The banners around them thrash wildly in the wind, and the torches flare. Adam is panting, and Blake feels breathless. Sienna steps in front of Adam, and he reluctantly shifts to the side. The wild drum of feet and metal reaches a deafening crescendo, and Blake joins the fray, her voice twisting with the wind in a fervour pitch. Sienna raises a hand, regal and composed amidst the growing chaos around her, and the voices cut out nearly at once. 

Blake holds her breath as Sienna gazes out at each of them, pinning each person in place. She lets the silence grow around them, unfurling into a great beast. Finally, she speaks. 

“Then follow us,” she says. Her voice is soft, threaded with authority. No one dares speak over her. “Gather your things. Gather your people. We leave at dawn, for Westcourt. It’s time we expanded operations.” 

Blake’s heart stutters. 

Around her, people whisper excitedly. Sienna watches them for a moment, grinning, before stepping back and disappearing into the crowd. They part for her in waves, and then she’s gone, wreathed in shadows. Adam doesn’t move from his position, grinning viciously with the crowd’s excitement. He keeps his eyes on Blake, watching her smile freeze, her chest ache. When she looks up, his brow is creased in disappointment. 

Ilia laughs beside her, shakes her by the shoulders, and Adam disappears from view.

“We’re getting out!” she crows, voice mingling with the dozens of others already starting to spread out, to prepare. “We’re finally going to do something, Blake.” Her skin keeps shifting from bright reds to soft oranges, too caught up in joy to tamp down on her emotions. It’s a dizzying display, and reminds Blake so much of when they were children.

Ilia hasn’t looked at her like this in months. 

“We made it,” Blake agrees, smiling softly. 

The meeting is over and the White Fang members slowly depart, making their way back to their homes in small groups, careful not to alert any posted guards. Ilia leaves and doesn’t ask Blake to follow her. Blake almost tries to call after her. It’s for the best that she holds off, obviously-- if they’re going to be anything, they need to learn how to make their own way, no distractions-- but her chest aches all the same. Ilia doesn’t even look back.

Blake is excited to move towards a bigger plan. She’s all for grand purposes and larger impacts, of course-- that’s never been the issue. She just has no idea how to tell her parents about this new venture, is the problem. She loves them, loves them deeply, and Blake knows this news will hurt them. Knows they won’t just let her leave, without goodbyes, without tears, without begging her to stay. Their misguided distrust for Adam is nothing new, and talking about the White Fang has become three times as awkward since their ousting. So it’s a bit of a conundrum, trying to figure out how to say goodbye. 

Trying to figure out how to want to. 

She should want to go. She does want to go. She just... she just thought it would be a little different, is all. A little more planned. A little more prepared. She should be desperate to leave, to go and spread justice for her people. To save lives and act heroically and learn tons of new things, with Adam and the White Fang. And she mostly is, really. 

Really.

Blake takes the longest way back to her home, slowly making her way down the winding moonlit path, trying desperately to pull herself out of this funk. She can see the outline of the cottage roof when Adam comes up behind her. 

“I saw you at the rally,” he says, as if he didn’t invite her, and she stumbles in surprise. She’s got the keenest hearing out of every recruit her age, but she can never hear him coming. He leans against a tree and smiles at her. “You must be excited to go out into the world.”

Well obviously she is when he puts it like that. She nods in agreement, and keeps walking. 

“Wait,” Adam says. There’s a weight to his voice, something heavier than his posture lets on.

Blake stops, stumbling at the sudden loss of motion. Her ears twitch and she can hear him laugh under his breath. It never gets less embarrassing, this weakness.

“Sienna wants me to head out early, ahead of the main group. To make contact with Westcourt first, scope out the area,” he pauses, putting a hand on the hilt of his sword and shifting his weight. He does that when he wants to look important, she’s learned. “I need someone to come with me.” 

Blake nods. He likes to think out loud, and bounce ideas off of her first. “You should take Tukson, maybe. He’s effective, and strong. Or Ilia-- she’d make a good spy.”

Adam squints at her, and shakes his head. Like she’s stupid. “There’s only one person I trust enough to come with me.” He steps in front of her, takes off the mask he’d so proudly worn. It makes him look softer, younger. “There’s no one else brave enough to stand with me, or talented enough to keep up. Out of everyone, it’s always you, Blake,” he says, standing closer, until he rests an arm's length from her face. “I need you.” 

He looks so vulnerable in the moonlight. Blake thought she knew every facet of Adam’s personality, but she’s never seen this boy before. He holds himself up with the sword at his hip, standing strong, but his shoulders curve and his smile is fleeting, unsure. 

She doesn’t notice the way his hands grip the pommel of his sword in a vice, or the way his eyes harden at her silence. 

“Don’t you want to come with me, Blake?” he asks, honey-sweet.

She… she doesn’t know. She doesn’t know at all. This Adam isn’t like regular-Adam, and she has no idea what to do with that information. Not to mention she still has to tell her parents she has to leave-- she can’t leave without saying goodbye-- and she wants to try and talk to Ilia, too, and grab a few books from the shop, and this is all so sudden she needs time to think, to plan it all out, to understand what’s even happening but--

“Come with me, Blake.” 

Adam’s voice breaks through her racing thoughts. It holds none of the softness he’d worn so easily mere moments before. She blinks, confused. It’s almost grounding, to hear the sharp edges in his words, to see the hard lines his body cuts through the air. 

He turns on his heels and doesn’t spare her another glance, walking deeper into the forest, away from her home. Blake goes to keep walking in the opposite direction, but her legs twist and her feet spin and she’s walking behind Adam instead, as if it was where she’d always been meant to be.

She grinds her heels into the dirt and freezes. Her head starts to pound and the muscles in her legs burn but she doesn’t move an inch. Ice crawls up her spine.

Adam pauses, and turns around. 

“I said follow me,” he says. He isn’t smiling, anymore. 

Blake’s right foot moves forward, unbidden, and she stomps hard on the ground. Bites her cheek to distract herself. Lightning dances across her muscles, spasming through her. Her legs tremble with the pressure, bones cracking. Still, she does not move.

“I-- I don’t-- I’m not ready,” she whispers, the words strained. Her eyes start to burn and her throat aches. 

Adam doesn’t spare her another glance, just keeps walking forwards. The farther he gets the harder her body rebels, invisible ropes tied to her ankles, her wrists, her knees, pulling her harder and harder. I won’t go, Blake wants to say. I won’t follow you. I won’t. Not yet.

All she manages is a gasp. Nothing she does changes anything-- the harder she fights, the harder her body contorts, sending her muscles spasming and her head pulsing. She can hardly think, and the impossibility of it all sends tears coursing down her cheeks. 

She stumbles to a knee, fingers seeking purchase in the soft dirt, something to hold onto, something to grab, some kind of anchor, please. There’s nothing but pebbles and worms. A wave of fire ripples across her torso and she can’t think through it, can’t think of anything but desperate relief. She’s betrayed by her own body, by the weakness built into her own gods damned mind, and she wants to scream, wants to cry, wants to throttle herself until there’s nothing left at all. 

All she can manage is a heaving, gasping sob, more breath than sound. 

Maybe if she stays like this her heart will give out.

Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. 

She can taste blood and bile in the back of her throat. Every breath sends shards of glass tearing through her body, burying themselves in her lungs. 

She can’t go on. She can’t. 

She’s pathetic, a voice whispers in the back of her mind. Truly, deeply pathetic. 

Slowly, jerking about like a broken puppet, she gets to her feet. She can feel Adam’s eyes on her, knows he’s probably smiling. Or maybe he’s upset, upset at the way she’s hurting. Maybe he didn’t mean it like this. He doesn’t know, doesn’t understand. 

Her feet shuffle forward and it’s almost comical, how her body slumps forwards, tethered to his words. Tears still streak down her face. Blake tries to rub at them but manages only to smear mud across her cheeks as well. She tries to look behind her, to get one last glimpse of her home, but the motion throws her off balance and she stumbles, forced to keep looking straight ahead or risk falling to the ground at his feet. She can’t go through that again.

She wonders if this is what Ilia’s parents felt like.

Adam slows his pace, until he’s walking beside her. She doesn’t look at him, doesn’t acknowledge him at all, but he wipes at her tears with a gloved hand anyways. Still smiling. 

“Trust me, Blake-- this is for the best. You know that, don’t you?” Adam says, and the words wrap around her spine and sink into her bones like a blanket wrapped tight, or maybe a noose. “We’re going to do big things together. Just trust me.” 

The panic starts to subside, and in its place a kind of silence builds. It’s terrible. It’s wrong. It’s peaceful. 

“You want this, too,” Adam tells her. The moon glows above them, stars splashed across the sky in a beautiful kind of chaos. It’s all so far away, so removed. She wonders what it’s like. She doesn’t make a sound. 

“You want this too,” Adam repeats, voice growing quiet. So what, Blake thinks. 

It must be nice to float in the sky like that, looking down on everyone, untouchable. Surrounded by brilliant stars, wrapped in the night. Weightless. 

Adam’s hand settles on her shoulder, fixing her in place, gripping tight enough to bruise. “Tell me you want this, too.” Adam says. His voice is violent in its emptiness. 

Blake is tired-- she’s so, so tired. She barely feels the words that pull themselves out of her chest. 

“I want this, too.” She tells him, toneless. He almost looks angrier. 

“Don’t mock me,” he growls. 

She says it again, and again, and again, until he’s happy. 

They walk in a calmer silence, until Adam sees fit to talk. He tells her about all the wonderful things they’ll do in Westcourt, and then Vale. Tells her all about her promising progress. Tells her she’s the most dedicated person he’s met. Tells her he admires her spirit. Tells her she’s going places. That he’s so glad she wants this, too. 

She’s so glad she wants this, too.

They walk for miles, through trees and grasslands and along the shoreline, all in total darkness. The moon disappears sometime between her village and the grassy hills. With every step her mind gets clearer, and the words etch themselves into her heart. The farther she gets from the village, the more everything makes sense. Adam has big plans for the two of them, for the White Fang, for the world, and she... she thinks she trusts him, doesn’t she? She’s always trusted him before. Besides, this is all she’s ever wanted-- she’s finally going to be helping people. Of course she wants this.

Her cheeks are damp and her eyes are sore, but she doesn’t remember crying.

**Author's Note:**

> i have never needed to write a fic so badly for absolutely no reason before. anyways i love the bees and i love ella enchanted, and then the quarantine hit and i had nothing else to do with my life so here we are. 
> 
> this was supposed to be a oneshot? i don't think that's happening anymore.


End file.
